The Kokiri Warrior
by DreamWeaver010
Summary: Savannah was once a Kokiri child living peacefully in her home village. Now, she is a tormented adult, raised as a weapon against all Hylians not Gerudo. An undefeatable weapon that breeds war simply by existing.
1. Memory

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any attributes pertaining to The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, including its setting, characters, peoples, and items.

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**Chapter 1—Memory**

Pain laced through her body as the warm liquid slid down her throat, choking her, suffocating her. Clasping her throat in a vice grip, she tried so hard not to swallow the foul-tasting concoction, but it slid down anyway, past the barrier of her hands as one of the Gerudos continued to dump it from a large clay cup.

She was confused, disoriented, afraid. In the middle of the night, after a day of contented playing, she'd been abruptly abducted from her home in Kokiri Village. The ride, defiantly on a mean horse, had been rough: the gag had left a bitter taste in her mouth, the rope binding her wrists had chaffed her skin so that it became coated with a thin layer of blood, her small body was covered in bruises and her eyes were useless from being blindfolded. She simply could not see after being so long without her sight.

Perhaps it was not that she could not see, it was that there was no light to see by, she thought slightly, listening to the barbaric-sounding chant that was whispered all around her. For a brief second, the concoction was not forced down her throat and she took a deep breath, gagging on the fire that burned permanent damage into her insides.

She was humiliated by her helplessness. It mingled with Roarke's hoarse cry of denial mixed with her name as they carried her away; she'd been helpless from the start. The memory brought tears to her eyes. She had heard him call to her, heard him try to catch her captors…_"Wren! NO!"…_It seemed so long ago, yet still so close.

A new wave of pain pushed through her thoughts, engulfed her body in a neat and orderly fashion. What were they doing to her? Why were they doing what they were doing? Had she done something wrong? She was but a child to them, a Kokiri…why…?

The hands that groped her held her still as her body began to shift strangely, growing and expanding. Her skin was pulled taunt as her bones pulled against their sockets. Her internal organs turned so that she desperately feared being sick, even as they seemed to elongate. Her head pounded with the steady beat of a war drum. A war drum she feared was not in her head, but real, and with purpose. Her mind slipped away from her body as the pain became simply too much. Black oblivion engulfed her, closed in on her so that she lost consciousness and lay still and dead to the world, while the war drum beat and the chant continued.

…

…

…

_"Wren! NO!"_

_­_


	2. Once a Kokiri

**Chapter 2— Once a Kokiri**

Savannah rubbed her head in a desprate attempt to eliminate the headache. The bright sunlight of Gerudo Valley did not help any. The humid air she breathed only served to help coat her lungs in dust, making it harder to breathe and this add to the headache as well.

"Aim again, Savannah." Yetta said. Her voice held a strange mix of authority and gentleness, though the two should have canceled each other out and made her sound uninterested.

Obediently, Savannah pulled back her large fairy bow, fitting in an arrow. She took aim at the target with care and speed. The arrow, once notched, didn't stay in the bow for more then three seconds before it sliced through the air to pierce the target in the middle of the red center.

Hardly noticing the bull's eye, Savannah turned to face Yetta. "Enough for today, Mother. Please."

Yetta was a pretty Gerudo for her age—even though no one was quite sure what that was. She wore her people's style of white pants and a small matching top. Her hair, though, was long and loose where the other Gerudos wore theirs cropped short. Her bright hazel eyes never failed to take in every detail. Her build was strong and her calloused hands were a testimony to her work.

Yetta shielded her eyes with a hand and looked over at Savannah. The child was almost taller then she was, but not quite. She was a beautiful young woman with tanned skin and an appealing body. Her eyes were gold, almost the equivalent to the Gerudo hazel, and she wore the white garments her people favored. But the more noticeable thing about Savannah was her hair. It had been a bright brown not a year ago. When they'd brought her here, though, it had started to grow black. It wasn't a rotten, decaying black, but a silky and clean texture. Then the Gerudos had died her hair red. All three colors mixed through the chopped off mass.

"Yes, you're right. Enough for today."

Yetta turned to lead the way back into the Fortress with a brusque stride. Savannah followed much more slowly, un-strapping the quiver from her back and letting it dangle with the bow from her fingers. The shadow of the huge Fortress crept up on her and when she stepped into its full protection, she paused with momentary blindness.

The smells of food cooking wavered through the air to her nose. Her mouth watered; she was so hungry. It smelled like chicken, and some sort of pasta. Walking on before her eyes were adjusted, she ran her hand along the wall, twisting around the corners without giving a thought to it. Within a moment, she was at her chamber.

Her room was a moderately sized one as far as the rooms in the Fortress went. It had no door, but in her spare time over the past two months, she'd woven a large cloth to hang over the open doorway for privacy and tacked it up from the inside. She gently moved the bright purple fabric away and went into the room.

It was bare, but it was hers. The walls, floor and ceiling were mud, like the rest of the Fortress. Her pallet—straw with a down blanket over it—was in the far left corner, directly in front of her. Beside that on the far wall was the uncovered window. In the corner to her right was her weaving loom, where another rag rug was in progress. Against the wall that met the windowed one and the one with the door was a large chest. In that chest was all she owned, which wasn't much at that point.

With a sigh, she set the bow and quiver against the wall beneath the window, next to her long sword, metal shield, and various other weapons she used for training. She stood back up to stare blankly out the window for a moment. Gerudo Valley was a waste-land-desert. Sand was king _and_ queen here, creating dunes and drifts. Sandstorms were vicious and frequent. Water was scarce. Food was hard to come by as well, but the more hunting-oriented of the Gerudo went outside of the Valley for game.

Speaking of game, her stomach growled. Her hunger suddenly dominate in her mind again, she went back through the halls, her eyes better, until she came to the kitchen. The noise of most of the Gerudos gathered there welcomed her as she stepped into the dim, windowless room in the belly of Gerudo Fortress. Smoke rose from the huge pot over the fire. Some were setting out plates and utensils, while others stirred the pot and tended the food on the grate and near the coals, while others still milled around socializing. Yetta stood back in the darker shadows in the far corner, whispering with Abinan, Queen Gerudo. They had their heads together, their hands halfway covering their mouths and faces and their eyes shifted about the room, looking for any who would dare listen in.

Savannah managed a spot near the beginning of the line and dipped up a delicious-looking chicken leg and several spoonfuls of the stringy pasta. She then retreated through the people, who mostly ignored her, to the stairs that led in and out of the kitchen. She sat down about halfway up, high enough that she wouldn't be noticed but low enough to hear what was said and watch everyone in the room.

She ate quickly, yet slowly to savor the tastes. Eating could be a rare thing for her, when one considered all the training and studying they put her through. It wasn't uncommon for her to go all day without food, but, hey, at least they didn't starve her. She had meat on her bones…but not very much at all. She'd noticed how much her ribs were visible that morning when she'd dressed.

Her thoughts brought her already-low spirits down further. She wallowed in her depression, eating as quickly as she was able, anticipating when she could be alone. Suddenly everything irked her; being here, wearing _Gerudo_ clothing, watching them chat and laugh and tease together and knowing that they ignored her unless they wanted her to kill. Yes, Queen Abinan valued her undefeatable skills in battle. Yes, Yetta loved her (at least, most of the time) but she was still rather alone.

"Why do you always look so miserable?" Vivi asked. At sixteen, Vivi was one of the youngest members of the tribe, but also one of the most loved. She showed potential with a weapon in hand, wore her Gerudo clothing proudly, bore the tattoos and piercing of a Gerudo, but most of all, she had their darkly tanned skin and bright, gleaming red hair. She was the most beautiful, and most rebellious, of them all.

"Do I have any reason not to be miserable?" Savannah asked softly as Vivi came to sit next to her.

"You do the exile thing to yourself. If you'd go down there instead of up here, you wouldn't feel so alone." Vivi said, taking a large bite of chicken. "It's as simple as that."

"No, Vivi, it's not."

"You're making life a lot harder then it has to be."

"You weren't once Kokiri. You were never of a race that the Gerudos have come to despise. Do not speak to me of how hard my life is."

Vivi sighed, polishing off her pasta, and standing with her eye on the half-full serving bowl.

"We don't hate you, Anna. We want you to be our sister. The fact that you're not a true Gerudo isn't the problem; it's your self-isolation that is." With that, Vivi went away to get more food. Since she didn't get to eat much, Savannah thought about getting more, too, but despite what Vivi said, she wasn't the problem. Even if she went down there, they would still ignore her. She was Kokiri, no matter what they did to her, forever lost between two warring worlds.

Sighing, she left her bowl on the stairs. One of the others would get it. Turning, she headed silently up the stairs and headed for the Fortress stables.

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Paris shoved aside the tent's flap door with an irritated breath. He walked heavily, his irritation visible in every movement he made, as he walked toward the make-shaft stables where his horse, Heath, was kept with the war party's other animals.

Paris was dressed in plate armor from head to toe, a broad sword around his waist, a helmet under his arm. His long black hair hung loose to his shoulders with war braids pleated around his head every few inches. The black-jeweled earring he wore in his right ear swung around and hit him in the face when he jerked at a man's disturbed cry at the other end of the camp. Irritated further, his eyes darkened to black in the waning dusk and he stomped on.

One of the grooms came out and started to ask if there was something his lordship needed, but Paris waved him away before the man could say a word. He went to the middle corral where the horses were roaming and whistled. Out of the almost-darkness a chestnut stallion came trotting forward, his head held high and his long black mane flopping around about him. Paris stood on the lowest rung of the three-post fence and reached out to his animal friend, whispering to him.

"Do you want to run free tonight, Heath? Away from this camp…the war…this…_stupidity?" _The horse neighed in response. Paris climbed down and stripped off his armor, leaving it there next to the fence, to reveal rather plain clothing underneath: a pair of tightly-fit cloth pants and a sleeveless tunic. He then climbed over the fence with one swift motion and mounted his stallion bare-back and turned the horse around to gain some distance. Then they charged, head-long, toward the fence, gaining speed and momentum, the chilly night air blowing their hair back so that it whipped around in their faces. They dashed onward until the fence was right there, right in front of them. Then, in a show of pure strength and understanding skill, Heath and Paris jumped the fence with room to spare. They landed hard but steadily on the other side without breaking stride and galloped on, into the waiting night.

The fields they traveled through were open, allowing in the star and moonlight. The stars shone brightly in the otherwise dark countryside, and the moon was a strange shade of pale gold, so bright that he and Heath had shadows behind them.

Once they were away from the camp, and into mostly uncharted territory, Paris slowed down for the horse's sake. It wouldn't do to break his friend's leg miles from camp in the middle of a strange part of the land after dusk. He ambled along, his angry energy somewhat spent on the mad run out of the camp. Heath seemed much more content as well, so Paris calmed his nerves and began a half-meditation to relieve the bone-weary ache he felt.

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**Zequistis Free Spirit**, **OrcishHorde** and **Spiritual Stone**, thank you each for your reviews; they are very encouraging.


	3. The Meeting

**Chapter 3—The Meeting**

**Please Note:** I'm tweaking the setting of Hyrule Field slightly; near the entrance to Gerudo Valley, there's now a heavily wooded area.

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Tiring suddenly of the mild trot, Savannah let Shadow pick up the pace. They galloped, on and on, at an increasing speed. Adrenaline flooded her veins as the cool night wind rushed through her hair and brushed her skin. The stars shone brightly as she rode swiftly across the path.

She was headed for the small patch of woods that sat on the edge of Hyrule Field, a place that was—as far as she knew—her own. She called it Woodland Haven. The path led into the lush vegetation and the path grew narrow and hazardous, but Savannah did not slow down. She rushed headlong on, feeling her senses and her body heighten with the adrenaline high.

Savannah could hardly see where she was going or what was around her for the darkness and the shadows of the tall trees that surrounded her, but she knew exactly where she was. There was a turn up ahead. A sharp turn. And then at the bending point of that sharp turn, the path broke off, dropping Goddesses knew how many feet and several wide. It was a long jump and especially dangerous for the turn that one had to swing one's horse into to stay out of the thorny brush.

She could die jumping this small ravine without her sight. One small miscalculation and she could easily die, or be left broken to bleed slowly to death.

Savannah smiled with pure reckless joy as she spurred Shadow on faster. Heeding her heels in his flanks, the horse ran faster, straight for the perilous turn and jump.

She closed her eyes, and in her mind was the layout of the land. She knew the little dip in the dirt right before the turn, the slight way her mount's weight would shift. She was aware of the thorn-tree that bore wicked thorns two to three inches long to her left as she passed through the last of the straight-stretch. She knew the rock facing to her right, every crevice and the layers that the solid wall was made of.

Shadow's weight shifted as he went over the low spot in the ground. She urged him on and suddenly the ground was gone from beneath them. She opened her eyes. It was the awful sense of falling in the pit of her stomach, and the exhilaration of flying for a few milliseconds. It was the way the wind tore at her clothing more furiously for those seconds and the way Shadow neighed his pleasure.

It was the sense of freedom.

Until she and Shadow hit the ground.

The landing was hard, but solid. As they landed on the sort-of-shaky dirt, a horse to her left reared up with a whining protest. The horse was so large, and so close. Her heart stopped beating for those seconds while she gazed up at the thrashing hooves of the beast. She heard a rider call to the horse, something soothing and commanding. Then the horse was back on the ground, and Shadow had carried her away.

The sound of fast-paced racing came from behind her and she turned to see the horse and rider following her. And gaining. The rider said something else to his mount, but she couldn't make out what. Suddenly they came at her faster.

Without thinking, with blind, unreasonable panic holding her hostage, she turned to face forward again, urging Shadow on faster. She knew this land, too, and she took advantage of that.

Within seconds she was going faster than she had been after she'd cleared the jump, but she was still shocked and scared senseless, senselessly, when the other rider came up beside her. The path was narrow and his large mount pushed her over, too near the brush.

As they passed her, Shadow made a strange noise in the back of his throat and kicked up his pace again. She urged him to slow down so that they could fall behind, maybe turn around and beeline it back to Gerudo Valley, but the horse did not heed her this time. He went on, headlong, in a racing pace that even she would have declared madness given the circumstances. Holding on, trying one last time to slow Shadow down, she ducked her head close to the animal's. There was a fallen log up ahead that would knock a rider senseless—kill her at the pace—if she wasn't low enough to miss it.

She listened for the whacking of the other rider's head, but heard nothing beyond the continuing clamor of the horses' hooves in a mad-dash. The rock wall on her left fell away. They were nearing the outside world again and the brush's thickness was slacking off, the trees became less numerous.

She was abruptly next to the other rider again. Shadow took the lead and held it for a few seconds before the other horse nudged ahead.

The rider cursed.

Savannah checked her mental map. The path was narrowing, and soon it would be too narrow for the horses to run side-by-side.

It happened fasted, the approach and reach of that point. The impact was brutal. Both horses raced inward, trying to take the lead of the so-narrow path and both collided with each other. They thudded together, the other rider's horse putting more force into the shove that pushed Shadow out from under her. She went right, without control and suddenly found herself in the arms of the other rider.

She heard her horse squeal, and heard a neighing from the other horse as well. The air was jerked out of her lungs as she hit the ground, the rider under her. His arms tightened around her and she struggled instinctively to be free of him. Despite what seemed an iron hold, he released her when she pull away from him. She rolled out of his arms and off of him, turning around when she wasn't touching him anymore.

And suddenly the mad dash that had happened so fast was over. The air was quiet and calm again and everything was so still. Seconds passed, filled only with heavy breathing and the horses' shuffling around.

Savannah's eyes were transfixed on the Hylian who lay still on his back, his arms flung wide, his chest moving up and down rapidly. Clouds must have suddenly uncovered the moon, for they were all bathed in the pale light.

He'd broken her fall. Whether on purpose or by accident, she didn't know, but he had nonetheless. Her heart warmed as that thought crept into her mind. He'd protected her.

She studied him closely. He had pointed ears like all Hylians did, his eyes were closed though. His mouth looked…kissable.

She almost cringed as the word came to the forefront of her mind. Where had that come from?

He wore regular clothing, cloth brown pants that hugged his legs, and a dark-colored sleeveless tunic. She shivered suddenly for the memory of his bare skin against hers as they fell.

There was a chain handing from his ear, with a glistening stone at the end, and several thin ear cuffs along the upper curve. In the moonlight, his skin looked well tanned and showed off the muscles underneath.

Golly, she'd never seen anything like him before, and something inside her stirred. She reached out with the intent of touching his light brown hair. She hesitated ever so slightly an inch from the thick locks, then touched. His hair was smooth and felt something like silk.

She froze and her breath caught when he opened his eyes and turned his head ever so slightly to stare at her.

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**Thawn716** and **Spiritual Stone**, thank you both for your reviews!


	4. Lotion

**Chapter 4—Lotion **

Paris couldn't breath. And it wasn't from the fall. At least, not anymore. The woman in front of him was beautiful. Her hair was a strange mix of brown-red streaked with black, her eyes were golden and shone in the moonlight.

The wonder in her eyes held him. She seemed as transfixed by him as he was by her.

He heard Heath as if from a distance, and the noises her horse made, but it didn't seem to matter. He only continued to stare at her bright eyes and pretty features.

"Are you alright?" she said softly.

He ground his teeth together and turned his head to look back up at the stars, then tested his muscles and bones. He was sore, and he was sure he'd pulled something in his lower back, but nothing was broken or badly damaged.

With a slight grimace, he pushed himself up, rubbing the back of his head as a black wave rushed through, blinding him for a moment, then leaving a headache behind.

"I'm alright," he said, then looked at her. "And you? You're not hurt, are you?"

She shook her head, but as he looked her over himself, he didn't believe her. She was bruised. Badly. There was a long bruise that marred her flat, boney stomach and an ugly looking one on her bare shoulder. Her arms didn't have specific places he could call "bruises," instead her arms seemed to be swollen all around with inflammation. She looked sore and tender to the touch, but didn't seem to notice the pain.

"You're bruised," he contradicted.

She looked down and seemed shocked to find the purple and blackish marks on her skin. "I'm not hurt from the fall... You…you caught me."

He remembered that. He'd felt her arms, her skin against his as he'd caught her and they'd fallen together. It'd been a strange, uncalled for bliss, until he'd hit the ground. Surveying her still, he noted that she wore Gerudo clothing, but was not a Gerudo. That was odd.

"It was nothing, really," he said.

She looked away as if embarrassed or shy. "But…I appreciate it. It was very good of you."

"If it means that much to you, then you're welcome," he said, pushing up to his feet. He looked down at her and she looked up. They stood and sat there for a long second, then he offered his hand. "My name is Paris."

She took his hand and came to stand next to him. "They call me Savannah."

"Why do they call you that?" he asked, noting that she didn't claim it as her name.

"Because I was forged in the desert."

"Ah," he mumbled.

One of the horses neighed, drawing both of their attentions. They turned and together went to where the horses stood. Examining each with slow deliberation, they both concluded that their animals were alright.

Taking his horse by the reins while he rummaged in his saddle pack, Paris said, "This is Heath. He's a bit mulish."

"I can respect that," Savannah said as she petting the horse's head. "Shadow is rather stubborn, too, but he learned from the best, so I cannot complain."

Paris chuckled slightly. "The best being…?"

"Myself," she answered.

Paris found the bottle he'd been looking for and showed it to her. The glass was blue and it shone mystically in the moonlight.

"Rub this on the bruises. It will speed healing and ease the pain."

Savannah eyed the bottle warily. She couldn't remember the last time someone had given her something without wanting something in return. It shocked and frightened her. Her body did ache, the bruises did hurt…but….

Paris sensed her hesitation and unease. He uncorked the bottle and shook some of the smooth cream out into his hand. He re-corked the bottle and with one hand, rubbed the white mixture into the bruise that was forming on his shoulder from the fall.

Savannah watched as he applied the white cream to himself. If he was willing to use it on his own injury, then it must be safe. But, still. When he offered the bottle to her again, she took it tentatively.

"What do you want in return?" she asked, looking down at the bottle.

"Nothing. I can get more. And you need it more then I," he said, emphasizing his words with a pointed stare to some of the visible bruises.

She looked back down at the bruises again, then mumbled, "Thank you, Paris."

He nodded, pulling Heath toward him as he gazed up at the sky. "I should return to my base. They will wonder where I've gotten to."

She nodded and followed his lead, mounting Shadow.

"Should I escort you home?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I know the way."

He nodded again. They went together to the closer end of the Woodland Haven. She could have gone the other way, but she didn't want to jump the ditch again.

Savannah's head was spinning, partially from the fall and some because of him. Paris. Her tongue burned with the question of what he was; she'd never seen anything like him. So strong, strange. Enthralling. She wanted to say beautiful, but it didn't describe him the right way.

Paris was still mystified and the ride out of the small forest gave him the chance he needed to recover. The mystery of her made his soul dance. She was not Gerudo; he was sure of that. Yet she wore Gerudo white. He was dying to ask her why, but refrained from it.

When they reached the outskirts of the woods, the moonlight shone slightly brighter and the stars were more obvious. They stopped and faced each other.

Paris studied her for a long moment. He hadn't really expected her to agree to his escort, especially considering he was sure she would go toward Gerudo Valley.

He smiled suddenly, faintly. "I'm glad to have met you, Savannah." With that, he turned and trotted away.

Savannah was lost for words; she tried to think of something to say, but found nothing. But the tingling in the pit of her stomach told her one thing: she and Paris would meet again.

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Later that night, Savannah sat in her room in Gerudo Fortress, watching the moonlight play through her window. The slight light that the celestial orb illuminated cast shadows by way of the objects in her room. She stared blankly at the night interaction as she felt the pain of a large bruise on her ribcage ease. It had been an immense, throbbing wound that radiated pain through her body. Now, by slow degrees over minutes, the pain eased. The lotion's texture was smooth and light against her skin and somehow the smell of the white cream reminded her of Paris. It was fixed in her mind that what she was smelling was his scent.

The lotion worked and was a priceless gift, she concluded as the last of the hurt faded away. She longed to ease the pain of her other bruises, but the Gerudo would notice if she walked among them tomorrow without disfigured skin. Holding the bottle to her chest for a moment, she savored the unexpected friendship that was represented by that bottle.

Then she tucked it away in her large wooden chest.

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**Spiritual Stone** and **Thawn716** thank you both again for your reviews.

And, Merry Christmas, everyone:)


	5. Midnight Meeting Part 1

**Chapter 5—Midnight Meeting Part 1**

An attack. A bloody, couldn't-be-profitable-if-they'd-tried, cursed, stupid, un-intelligent, bad-consequences, dim-witted, idiotic, _battle._

Paris couldn't quite hide his disgust as he watched the other military leaders plan out how they would surround and penetrate Geurdo Fortress. The dim lighting in the room cast a strange glow and shadow over the map that was laid out on the table. The seven leaders, four men and three women, stood in a large and bulging circle around the table making soft comments, while the head leader marked on the map with a thin pencil.

He stood back, wanting so much to comment, but lacking the authority to do so. He was but a general of war. He was there because they were laying out how they were to attack. And he would lead that attack.

But a battle was not the way to solve this problem with there Gerudo. He was not in on all the information that was circulating about the Gerudo and the Hylian Queen and King, but he knew that something was wrong. The chain of events that had led to this upcoming violence needed to be re-examined. Someone needed to check out their people, check the connections, the trades, all communication that had taken place within the last three or four fortnights.

There was no need to shed blood.

A simple talk would most likely clear it up, but these military driven people wanted blood. Gerudo blood.

In his rage, he thought of Savannah. Of where she was, where she would stand in this. If she would flee, or stand by the people whose clothing she wore. Whose side was she on? Would she stand with the Gerudos? He felt an uncanny need to protect her, to warn her, keep her safe.

Suddenly, the outline that was being laid out was purged from his mind as a plan formed. He would go warn her. He would ride to Gerudo Fortress under cover of night, locate her chambers in the great hall and warn her.

His eyes shining with the prospect, he banished the temptation to laugh out loud. It was so heroic, so much like a fairy tale. He assumed much; assumed she was even in Gerudo Fortress, that she was one of them, and not someone else playing a part. He assumed she stayed in the fortress as well.

Goddesses, and then there were the guards. The Gerudo were at war; their stronghold would not be lightly defended. They would be on high alert at all times.

But the feeling of need in him grew and grew as he contemplated what he was about to do. The adventure of it alone would have been enough to entice him. After all, the Goddess Nayru didn't watch over him for nothing. The goddess's battle charm, Nayru's Love, was cradled in a pendent that rested above his heart. Surely love would guide him, for that's what he suddenly feared it was. Paris was no fool and he knew his emotions well. Fondness mixed with need and longing, and the want of being with her, the thought of never seeing Savannah again was painful.

"General?"

Yes, he was in love. It was a brazen conclusion to come to so early in their relationship, but he felt it; knew it with his very soul. It would be.

_"General?"_

Paris's head snapped up at the sharp command. "Yes, Count?" he addressed the man who had snapped at him, the highest ranking officer present.

"This plan suits you? You've no objections?"

He forced his mind back on track, and studied the map. It was hard, but with the promise to himself that he would go see Savannah come night, his mind managed to settle to his disgusting work.

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A few hours later, Paris dismounted Heath, his eyes fixed on Gerudo Fortress. The moon tonight was, cursedly or blessedly, full, and it cast a bright glow over the lands. It was hard to find already existing shadows to hide in; the desert was really a barren wasteland. He left Heath far enough away from the Fortress that the horse could escape unharmed if something happened, then crept forward. He stayed low, crouching, and moving softly, quickly, across the coarse sand.

For his heroic midnight adventure, he had discarded his armor, leaving it in his tent at the base. He wore simply his tunic tonight over a long-sleeved undershirt and regular cloth pants. His color was black, the color of the night had the moon not been out. Truly, he could see, and was grateful for it, but could also be seen, and for that he was not.

The Fortress loomed ahead of him, giant and threatening in its appearance. He was at the angle where the moonlight hit roughly half of the great hideout and shadow engulfed the remaining part, giving it a menacing glow. But it was made less threatening by the mere fact that inside, Savannah was there.

Reaching into his tunic, he touched the pendent that contained Nayru's Love. It glowed warm and bright against his cool skin, a good sign. Earlier, when he had agreed—more or less—with the Count about the battle, the pendent had been cold and uncomforting.

He continued forward, encouraged by the pendant's warmth, only to stumble back into the shadows when he caught sight of the first guard. He almost laughed. Now came the tricky part. Like most bored guards, she had set down a path to tread, and was wearing a path in the sand. Paris watched her for a long moment, making sure that she truly walked the same direction, turned at the same spots, checked the same darker corners of her eyesight. When he was confident in her path, and she turned her back, he dashed through the open and exposing moonlight and into the shadows near the large gate that led into the "courtyard."

The gate was closed, however, and two of the Gerudo were watching from the top of it. There was a path further along the wall that led up into the heart of the Fortress; he'd have to take that. Moving without a sound and sticking to the shadows, he followed the wall for several yards until he caught sight of the path.

Stone encased it on both the left and right sides, effectively blocking his view of the higher ground. Deciding he had no choice but to risk being close to a guard, he went to the very edge and looked carefully around the stone wall. There weren't any guards actually on the path, but he saw at least three up near the Fortress. Part of the path was bathed in shadow but the other part, the large part, was brightly lit by the moon. If he wasn't careful, one of the Gerudo would catch him before he made it up through the path.

His palms sweaty now, he watched the guards for a moment. These seemed far more alert; they didn't follow a set path. They wandered about, carefully eyeing up the shadows and rock around them.

He looked up at the fortress. A lot of it was in shadows and he took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darker hue as he eyed up the walls. The rock and stone that the fortress was made of should be enough for his long shot to grab onto, he decided. He'd aim high, get to the top of the fortress and work his way down, though, truth be told, he expected their bedchambers to be on the higher levels. It would make sense for their safe havens to be as far away from danger as possible. He pulled out his long shot, quiet and quick.

That left the dedicated guard women. Looking down to his feet, he found small rocks that were scattered in among the sand along the side of the stone entranceway. Taking up one of the largest he could see, he gathered his courage and moved forward, toward the moonlight, ever so slightly.

There were large clay jars kind of far off to his left. It would work. He watched the three women who patrolled the immediate area, waiting for all three of them to have their backs turned. Two turned away, but the third still stared right at the clay jars.

His palms sweaty, his shifted the rock through his fingers, counting to ten, then twenty, thirty, forty, fifty and sixty. Then from sixty to negative sixty. The counting helped him to keep his calm and not act too soon.

Moments passed, fading into one another. His heart still lurched in his chest in a deafening war-drum beat, but he focused on the guards. He knew that eventually, all three would turn away from both him and the jars and that would be his chance.

When his chance came, he almost missed it from being used to it not coming. But as the third woman turned away from jars, he stood in the path, the moonlight coming across the upper half of him. He threw the rock and it struck the clay jar, resonating a hollow sound. He jerked back down as small and as hidden as he could and watched the three guards and another from somewhere else rush to the jars to inspect the sound.

He stood again as soon as they had passed him, aimed high on the fortress walls and let the chain of the long shot fly, praying that the noise it created was beyond the guards' hearing.

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A thanks goes to **Spiritual Stone** for the review. And an apology to all readers for taking so long. Hope you all enjoy the new chap.


	6. Midnight Meeting Part 2

**Chapter 6—Midnight Meeting Part 2**

Paris flew through the air, his hair in his eyes, until he landed on the stone, far above the ground. Putting the long shot away, he turned to check if the guards had heard him. Five now gathered around the pots, examining the clay and the surrounding areas. None had taken notice of his invasion. He smiled.

Getting in, though, had more or less been the tricky part. Now he had to go carefully through the heart of the Gerudos' home to find Savannah.

Moving to check the door to his left that led into the dark interior, he reached inside his tunic to clutch at Nayru's Love. The pendent warmed in his hands and he felt an odd peace wash through him. The slight shake that he'd acquired while zipping through the air ceased. He felt the Goddess's inner power flow through him and guide him.

The inside of the fortress was dark and almost dank, but he paid little attention to it. His eyes and ears alert, he felt his way along, one hand to the wall. The hall turned left, and he followed it down a long corridor, passing several rooms on the one side he could feel that were dark. He followed his heart, not knowing if it was his inner being or Nayru that placed his feet and made them move forward.

When he turned left again, he came to a room on the right that was lit, from candles, it looked like. He paused in the shadows, peeking forward to see how many occupied the room. He saw one Gerudo, lying on her stomach with a book in her hand. He watched for a long moment and her attention remained on the book. But the position in which she lay posed a problem; it was parallel to the door. Should he try to walk by, she could catch him out of the corner of her eye. The candles were close to the door and practically eliminated the shadows in the hall that would be his ally.

A task of daring, and timing, then. He watched the Gerudo inside the room, her eyes darting across the page with fascination lighting her eyes. It could be that he only had to walk past and she wouldn't see him.

Several minutes of observation revealed nothing but book-reading, and at last, he decided on a coarse of action: he walked quickly, quietly, right past the open door, in the light. He was only evident for a second, but that second was all it took.

The young Gerudo jumped up, her book forgotten and leaned out the doorway, looking pointedly into the shadows that concealed Paris. She took a step out of her room then another toward him.

Paris's heart pounded, so loud he was sure it was either audible or visible. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his head and his palms became clammy as she took another step toward him.

Suddenly, someone yelled. From one of the lower levels, or even from outside, some kind of warning or cry for help went up. The Gerudo turned on a dime to see to it, but stopped before she'd taken more then a few steps to peer back at him. Still, Paris hoped he was hidden.

She turned and left at a sprint down the hall.

He breathed in a deep sigh of relief. But his heart beat hard with anticipation and an adrenaline high. To re-focus his attention on Savannah, he held fast to Nayru's Love again, and found peace. She wasn't far off now, around two more turns. Creeping with caution, expecting more Gerudo to pop around the corner at any moment in answer to the call for aid, he watched where he put his feet, and that he stayed plastered to the wall. When he came to the corner and looked around it, it proved to be empty, of persons and rooms. A blessing from the Goddesses, he acknowledged, running to the far end, which wasn't more then three meters from the corner. At the junction of that corner, he found stairs—he could have come up that way; shorter, faster, closer.

But it was done, and here he was. Silence met his listening ears, and stillness his senses. He knew where Savannah was; right there, in the second room down the hall, on the far side.

Checking again to be sure he was alone, he walked boldly out into the hall and came to a stop near the door.

Savannah sat at the window, looking out at the moon and stars. She didn't look down, where she might have been able to see the Gerudos, but instead her gaze searched the sky. She was beautiful, the moonlight glowing on her tanned skin and her long burning-black hair over one shoulder.

She sighed.

"Wings would be useful, yes?" he asked softly.

She jumped and turned, coming to her feet with a dagger in her hand. Then she recognized him and her warrior's guard fell some; the dagger was lowered slightly.

"What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"I came to see you, and as to how, a number of methods were employed." He walked toward her, reaching out to touch the hand that held the dagger. She let him lower her hand and place the dagger on her bed.

She looked away from him when he looked into her eyes.

"Thank you for the lotion. It works well," she said.

He nodded slightly, then dared touch her again. He turned her by her chin to look back at him. "I missed you."

She blinked and confusion wrinkled her face. "You missed me?"

"Yes," he breathed. And, without thinking of consequences or chance, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. She didn't hit him, didn't draw away, only stood there. Disappointed, he tried harder to stir her, cupping her face gently, letting his hands tease her hair. For a long moment, he feared she would stay statue, but then she moved—her lips, her hands, her whole body. She pressed closer to him, melted—sort of.

He pulled away slowly, pulling at her lower lip with his teeth. She was breathless, her eyes glazed. A smile struggled at the corner of her mouth.

She looked to be about to say something, but someone below, outside the window shouted. Paris looked out, terrified all of a sudden to find someone down on the ground, pointing up at the window where they stood in each other's embrace. There was someone below, but she was looking straight ahead, not up.

Savannah moved him away from the window, more into the corner to his right.

"I cannot stay long; the chance of being found increases with each passing moment. I came to warn you. My people, Hylians from the palace, make plans to attack here. They mean to kill the Gerudo. You must warn your people."

She looked away, then back and nodded. "I will tell them. I do not know what Abinan, our queen, will choose to do."

The question that had been nagging at him broke loose, provoked by her response to being called Gerudo. "You were not born Gerudo, were you?"

She sucked in a breath, stared at him for a long moment with tears in her eyes. Another shout erupted, this time from inside the Fortress. They were closing in; he needed to leave.

"Were you?"

Her breathing labored, she shook her head.

"What were you born? Hylian?"

He heard running, up the stairs that were nearer her room.

"Kokiri," she whispered. "You must go; they're coming." She pushed him toward the door, walking with him. He stopped there, refusing to go any further for another second.

"They will come before dawn, when the night is oldest. Be ready or be gone," he whispered. Then he kissed her again, on the lips, hard, trailing his hand through her hair one last time, then he turned abruptly, ripping himself from her, and went away, into the shadows. Savannah stood there, feeling so strange and alone and abandoned. She touched her lips, bruised and on fire, and watched the shadows for any sign of him. But she saw none.

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Damn, how he wanted to stay. He'd seen the loneliness in her eyes right before he'd turned away, but had not been able to make it go away. They were coming up the stairs closer to Savannah, which meant he had to take the way out that he'd come in by—the long way around. It didn't matter; he'd seen her, warned her, touched her and even kissed her. And he knew the truth now. Knew already what he was going to do upon returning to the camp.

He flew through the levels of the fortress. Most were coming up the other side, like they were invading; locust to green. He had only to get out, to reach Heath and make his get-away. He preferred to not been seen, but he could if he must. Once he was away, only the chance of being hit with an arrow remained until he was out of the valley.

His retreat lacked fineness, but it didn't matter. He ran, full out, stopping only when he reached the wall that blocked out the outside world. His breath was hard to come by, his heart heavy and his lungs weary, but he ignored the physical pain. No one was outside that he could see and he had no time to wait and make sure. So, he ran through the moonlight, exposed and vulnerable, away, out the fortress gate. Away, safely, hidden away.

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Abinan, Queen Gerudo, watched the male figure dart across her sands. She did not know where in the Fortress he had been, but she knew he had penetrated their forces. She would speak with Nina, her second-in-command. They would find whom he had spoken to, find out what he had had to say. And next time he approached her home—she was no fool; she knew he would return—they would capture him. It was her absolute way.

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**Thawn716** and **ZombieDragon**, thank you both for your reviews! Please let me know what you think of this chapter; I'm afraid it goes a little too fast, but I don't really know how to slow it down without adding another part to Midnight Meeting.


	7. Scouting Party

**Chapter 7—Scouting Party**

"My lord, where have you been?" the young page asked as Paris rode into the stables. Dismounting, he turned to the page and shook his head.

"Where I've been is my business." Motioning to the horse he said, "Brush him down and give him extra oats, if you would, please."

"Yes, my lord," The page took Heath's reins and Paris left his animal friend there. He rushed across the war camp, ignoring those who called out to him. It was dark, the place was lit by torches around the tents and scattered campfires. He rushed into his own tent, throwing the flap back. It was empty, like he had hoped; his personal page was no where to be found. Sitting down at the portable desk that had been set up in the corner next to his bed, he drew out ink and paper. He barely paused to form the words in his head before he started writing.

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**Two Days Later**

Savannah sighed as she mounted Shadow, her black stallion. Looking back over her shoulder, she watched six Gerudo follow suit. The sun would set soon; it was already gaining on the horizon. Some of the Gerudo had gathered to see her party off, but most had other thing to tend to.

Abinan walked from the fortress, her spear in hand. Two attendants followed her, like hand-maidens and bodyguards.

One of the Gerudo on the ground held Shadow's reins, so Savannah could bow to the Queen without upsetting the great beast.

"My Queen,"

Abinan stopped and nodded once, with firm resolve and control. "Watch where you tread, Savannah. They are close and will not hesitate to attack your party." She spoke softly, slowly, allowing each word to carry a heavy weight of its own.

"I will, my lady, you have my word."

The queen nodded again. Savannah retrieved the reins and led the six others toward the gate. Their animals walked solemnly out, deliberately. Some of the younger Gerudo, those who knew nothing of bloodshed or battle, leaned over the edge of the gate and waved them on. Some ran along the higher ground with them, cheering good luck and fortune, bidding them to accomplish their goals with speed and efficiency, to return home safely.

One of the youngest girls, no more than eight summers, leaned over the high ground on her belly, her arm outstretched to Savannah as she passed. The child held desert flowers out to her with a bright smile. Savannah, touched, reached out and gently took the flowers.

The child's smile grew wider. "Be safe, my sister," she giggled, then she ran off, joining a group of others who waited for her.

Her simple words touched Savannah. _My sister._ Could it be that maybe she was not so alienated after all? The foreign thought had her dazed. Maybe she did have a place here, maybe with time she could feel at home. She didn't know. All she knew was that the small child's words and gesture had warmed her, melted her heart. Here she and the others rode to death if they faltered, but the child did not see that. Such innocence.

Soon the fortress no longer sheltered them; they rode in open desert. Once outside of those protective walls, Savannah led her party at a slightly faster pace. They needed to reach the forest territory before dark. The woods where she had first met Paris. That memory pulled at her, demanding her attention, but she forced it back. She could not afford to be caught daydreaming. Not now, not while she held these six lives in her hands.

They rode out to the forest, which wasn't so very far away. Savannah led them along the path, warning about sudden falls and rises, and about the jump along the latter half of the path. She was the only one to speak, and then in only low mummers. She worked hard at keeping away memories, harder than she worked at guiding the party.

Once on the far side of the woods, she stopped them and they set up camp, just as the sun began to kiss the sky, painting red lipstick along the horizon. This would be their base—when the sun had set completely, leaving them in the dark, she and two others would head out toward the military camp belonging to the Hylians. They would spy and report back and if they were spotted they would fight to the death. They would not retreat to report back to Abinan. If they retreated, they would report what they could about the enemy, and that would be what Abinan would go on for the attack. But because spies had been fought, the Hylians would change their strategies in some vital way. It was better by far for Abinan to keep up every front, to have no knowledge, to avoid the power of suggestion that could lead to ruin on ruined plans.

Either they would come and go and no one would know, or blood would stain the ground. Their blood and the Hylians' blood, for they would not be easily slain.

Savannah had to prepare herself; had to root out images and memories of Paris. Thoughts of him made part of her wilt and another bloom. She wanted to see him again.

She shook her head furiously. She stood on the slight hill that looked out over Hylian Field and could see the glow from the camp a few miles away. The night cloaked her, the sunset's last firefly light silhouetting her. Her hands on her hips, she stared blankly at that glow.

Paris's face flashed through her mind, his smile. The feel of his kiss made her lips tingle. His phantom arms around her warmed her for a moment, but when he vanished, she felt lonely.

"We're ready, Savannah." Lea said from behind her.

Savannah squeezed her eyes shut to rid her eyes of slight tears. "We ride out immediately."

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**Hyrule Castle**

The page burst through the door, breathless and ragged looking. Her chest heaved as she ran through the hall, dodging guards and servants who tried to stop her. In her hand, held high, was a plain piece of paper. Running a sharp left around a tall thin maid, she skidded around to the magician's table.

"My lord!" she nearly shrieked. "An urgent message from Master Paris on the field!"

The elderly magician looked up from the vials he was mixing together. He had a white beard and thinned white hair, wrinkled skin and shaking bony hands.

"Lord Paris, you say?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Yes, Lord Magician. From Master Paris. He said it was most—most important." She gasped out, then handed the missive to the magician.

A tall blond haired woman entered the room at that moment. Without a word, the maids and guards retired. The woman stood tall, dressed in a rich blue gown of softest silk, and was obviously pregnant. Her eyes were a large blue, an inner light shining. Her smile was kind as she quietly thanked each present as he or she left.

"Magius, what's all the fuss about?" she asked when the last had left, coming toward him, taking in the paper his eyes were glued to.

The young page's eyes widened and she suddenly, roughly, bowed, lowering her eyes. "My lady,"

The Queen Zelda touched the young one's head so that she looked up. Zelda smiled for her, and the girl smiled back. Fishing a large golden coin out of her pocket, Zelda placed it in her hand, wrapped her fingers around it.

"Thank you, little one, for delivering your message."

"It was my pleasure, my lady!" the girl exclaimed, taking that as her permission to leave. Zelda, still smiling slightly, went to lean on Magius's shoulder to read the message.

He was frowning as he finished it and passed it on to her. She read it through slowly.

"Oh my," she said when she'd finally finished it. "I did not think such was possible."

"Your Link grew up," Magius said.

"Yes, he did, through the Master Sword, a tool of the Goddesses. How the Gerudo managed to change a Kokiri to one of them…Why would they do such?"

"Hard to say, my lady. But it's obvious that young Paris is worried about the girl."

Zelda glanced at the note again. It was formal enough, but his choice of words… _"I worry for her,"_ and _"…unfair to Savannah…"_ suggested that his concern steamed from something other than a professional opinion.

She looked back up to see Magius pulling out potions and mixes, sitting them out before him. Looking at the labels on a few of them, he started mixing. She watched him for a long moment as he worked. "Do you really think you can create a cure for her? A potion that will make her Kokiri again?"

"If I cannot, my lady, then I fear you need to search for a new court magician."

Zelda would have laughed—the thought of banishing Magius!—but he sounded so serious. "You take this matter into consideration with much gravity."

"I do," he barely nodded, his attention mostly on the potion he had begun mixing without hesitation. "The young Paris has requested my help and I intended to give it to him. Now, if you would leave me to my work, Zelda, please, I'd be very grateful."

"Yes, of course," Zelda dutifully moved out of the room, closing the door without noise behind her. She stood there, leaning against the thick wood for a long moment, then decided to search out Link; she needed to speak with him about the matter; it troubled her and so close to her due date, a fretting mind was the last thing she needed. Her two body guards fell into place flanking her as she walked, searching the castle.

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**Gerudo Fortress—Abinan's private chambers**

"Are you sure it was wise to send Savannah out with them?" Nina asked. The young, second-in-command wad reclining on the chase, a wine glass in her hand. Abinan was leaning against the hearth, one strong arm braced on the stones above her, staring into the flickering flames that threw warmth and light throughout the chamber.

"Yes, I am."

"But she is our best chance against the Hylians; one of them and us at the same time."

"I know. It was a risk to send her out there; the chance of losing her is great, but I fear the Gerudo would have been less at attention under anyone else. Despite what Savannah thinks, she commands a powerful dose of respect here."

Nina inclined her head in agreement with a slight frown. "What if they capture her?"

"We made one of her, we can make another."

Nina's head jerked up at the queen's base comment. "Does she mean so little to you?"

"It is not that she means too little. I am a queen, Nina. I must put my people first in my mind. To our people, Savannah is a tool forged in our own version of hell. She is useful, but dispensable."

Still frowning, Nina nodded. Her queen was right, but it pained her to think about it. Savannah was like a sister, a quiet and distant sister, but a sister to her nonetheless.

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This chapter feels too choppy to me, but I needed to be able to show what was happening on all fronts. If any of you have any tips for smoothing it out, please let me know. Thank you, **Thawn716**, for your review. On a side note, **ZombieDragon** mentioned bringing Link and Zelda into the story. I have given it thought as I promised and decided that they will appear later on in the story, to clean up the mess that Paris's superiors have made.


	8. Midnight Clash

**Chapter 8—Midnight Clash**

The night concealed them; hiding their darker skin and shadowy clothing with ease. The moon overhead, full the two nights before, was gone now. They traveled Hylian Field on horseback, slowly and quietly, Savannah in the lead. She was guided by the slight glow a ways away that was the Hylian camp. Her focus was there.

The Creatures of the Night scurried away, far away, not daring to come near the Gerudo war party. They were all armed, firstly with bows and fire arrows, secondly with short swords. Each had her own smaller assortment of weapons of choice, making all a supreme danger in her own right.

Savannah's focus was steady on her task ahead; get into the Hylians' camp without being seen or detected. Find the commander's tent. Secure knowledge of their plans. Leave, silent as they'd come. If they encountered anyone, _anyone,_ they would be forced to kill that person, and that in turn would alert the enemy of their presence. If they were spotted, they died fighting for their people. They never made it home.

_Home._ It was easy enough for Lea and the others to think of home, and work hard to return to it, but Savannah could not do the same. Despite the young Gerudo's words, she didn't feel that the Fortress was her home, she'd decided. Her shelter from the elements and her next meal, maybe, but not her haven.

She hoped that that hope of hearth and health gave a sense of ease and assurance to her party members. If they thought they were invincible, had no doubt that they would be back home by morning, then they would be.

Provided they didn't encounter Paris. _Shit._ There went her concentration. All it took was one slip on one of their parts and they all died. She feared that Paris was such a weakness that they would all die. Much as she did not love the Gerudo, she could not be the reason for six of their deaths.

She halted her horse suddenly, signaling a stop. She'd heard a horse, maybe two or three. Her mind had not been focused; her attention had been wandering. Lea pulled up beside her, despite the order to stand still.

"Where is your mind wandering, Savannah?" she whispered.

Just as soon as the words were out of Lea's mouth, they were ambushed. Not from all sides, thank the Goddesses, she'd not been so stupid, but they came from the front and sides. Hylians, mounted on large and fast horses, swords at the ready.

Bows were drawn, someone whispered some prayer, bows were shot, but they were too close. Steel was pulled free and clashed. The Gerudo turned as the Hylians swarmed their ranks, reaching the end and turning about for a second wave strike. The Gerudo were ready for the second strike, and instead of running through their ranks like wind through the grass, the Hylians were tangled among them like cloth caught in thorns. The close quarters made moving the horses difficult, and swinging too wide risky, but they managed a decent fight for a long moment.

Savannah was the first to kill one of the Hylians. She ran her sword through his stomach, watching the blood wash down her blade and his eyes change from shock to fear to resistance, then blank. Droplets of the blood mixed in the dirt, collecting in one of the horses' prints.

Some kind of cry went up, part Gerudo triumph, part Hylian-promised-vengeance. Another Hylians moved toward her, steel still clashing. Somewhere behind her, she heard a grunt, and the heavy thud as a body hit the solid, unforgiving ground. Her new enemy wielded his sword like an extension of his arm, seemingly not worried about hitting his comrades who were so close. She smelled rage and pain in him. The one she'd just killed was probably some kin to him.

He struck forward with a jab and when she dodged it, their blades colliding at a strange angle, he fell forward some, almost losing his balance.

Savannah's gut twisted when she saw who she'd been fighting. Who she had strove to kill, to fell dead. Rage and Sorrow and Determination warred across his face, then he looked up at her and recognized her.

"Paris," she whispered.

His breathing labored, he stared, the chorus of metal on metal, grunts and cries of pain or victory playing behind them, a backdrop to the cold dark night. Their eyes locked and they stared at each other. Savannah, rather inappropriately, remembered his kiss, and wanted to feel his lips again.

Paris hated himself for trying to kill her in that moment they stared at each other. He also feared for her, and for the Gerudo who would be outnumbered within moments; his larger party would no doubt hear the commotion and be even now on their way to aid his numbers. This had to end if Savannah and her Gerudo were to come out alive and unharmed.

Suddenly a loud Gerudo cry went up from somewhere behind Savannah. They both turned in time to see one of the Gerudo fall from her horse, dead weight as she hit the ground.

Savannah started to charge away from him, but he took a strong hold on her reins, holding the horse close to his.

"I did not know," he said. "Take what remains of your faction and leave. Run."

She turned back around to face him. "They will not flee, now that they've been spotted."

"They will," he vowed. "I will see to it. But you must run. Promise me,"

She bit her lip as another war cry shot through the air. "I promise."

He nodded, a slight smile playing across his grim face; he wanted to kiss her, but couldn't, not here, not now. He called his Hylians back, rallied them to him, away from her people. They withdrew at his command, without question or hesitation, though without finesse.

The Gerudo started to go after them for retribution, thirsty for blood, but Savannah called them back.

"We have the chance to retreat, to keep our lives. Come!"

They protested, Lea and another charging on. Savannah caught them, angling her horse into their way. "Retreat. Lea, you have your orders. Now, go!"

Lea growled low in her throat at her. "When Abinan hears of this…"

"The Queen will deal with me as she will. Do not give her reason to be angry with you, too."

A tense moment left the air heavy before Lea pulled around jerkily and headed away from Savannah. The others followed her, not Savannah, who hung back to see that they all turned around.

Savannah looked over her shoulder to see Paris watching her. She made no gesture to him, as that would betray him, but she hoped he knew how she felt. Then she followed the Gerudo away, lonely and drained of energy.

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**Hyrule Castle-- Magius's Workshop**

Magius held the reddish potion in his frail old hand and watched the liquid swish around slightly. It was done. He had gone without sleep for the two days since receiving Master Paris's request, but it was done.

The rest was up to Paris. Magius had full confidence in the boy to do what was right. He only wished he would come out of the affair happy. But, somehow, Magius doubted a happy ending for Master Paris.

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**Gerudo Fortress's Upper Levels**

Abinan looked down as her people prepared the sacred burning for their fallen family member. The hole had been dug out in the ground, and the dead warrior's body wrapped in oil-drenched cloth. Abinan watched as they lowered her down into the rectangular hole. They all stood around the body, looking down, speaking in turn. Each who had something to say would say it, then their priestess would say a few holy words, ask the Goddesses to keep and bless their lost and then the torch that now stood on a three-pronged stand a ways back would be dropped down onto the oily cloths. The body would burn down to ashes and then the hole in the ground would be filled in again, the ashes left where they lay.

It was a solemn, sad time. But even as they laid their one dead to rest, Abinan knew others would follow. She'd been granted no vision, but the tale that Lea wove was not pretty, nor was it fairytale.

Turning away from the ledge on the top of her fortress, Abinan faced the blank faces that surrounded her. Nina stood next to her, waiting for her decision. Lea stood back some, head bowed with respect as she finished her tale.

Savannah stood back against the wall of the canyon, her arms crossed, her head down, refusing to answer, to defend herself as Lea painted a bad picture of her. Her eyes were closed.

The Gerudo law demanded that Savannah be punished. Abinan looked to where the accused stood, silent as the body being burned below. That she didn't defend herself said much. It was not that Abinan was torn between duty and sentiment, it was that she was torn between principles, people.

"We will retire for the night. Allow me, Lea, Savannah, to sleep on what you have told me, and I will pass judgment in the morning." Abinan said quietly after a long moment.

"But, my queen—"

"I have spoken, Lea. Dare you contradict me?"

The warrior was silent for a moment, "No, my queen. Forgive me."

Abinan waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "You may all go down to attend to your sister."

It was a dismissal, and she listened as they all left.

Abinan stood above her people, watching for a long time, studying the flames that licked at the body, and the embers that floated gently into the air with the smoke against the black sky. She watched those gathered to see her off into the next life, heard some of their talk. Long moments passed.

Finally, exhausted and still not knowing what she would do, Abinan turned to go to her chambers. She stopped short though, when she saw Savannah still standing against the wall, a statue wrapped in night.

"Savannah,"

Silence. Then, Savannah lifted her head to stare at her with black eyes. "I meant only to save lives when we retreated." And then she turned and descended the stairs into the gloomy fortress.

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**Thawn716**, thank you again for your review. I hope this newest chapter meets with your approval.

The story is wrapping up. There are a few more aspects that I'm not quite sure on, but that's it. Barring some major disaster, there will be two, three or maybe four more chapters.


	9. Love and Death, Pain and Bliss

**Chapter 9—Love and Death, Pain and Bliss**

Paris mourned his little brother. He stayed huddled in his tent, weeping without control. Tears stained the dirt floor. Grief so profound raked him, shook him, paralyzed him. He could not comprehend…could not believe, did not want to believe…

Where was Nayru? Did she not promise him, when he'd been a boy, that once his service to her was over, he would be happy? Eight years was his due to the Goddess. Eight more days and he would have done his duty by her. He would have been free. How could the Goddess of Love allow his brother to die, in such chance happenings?

Olean had arrived two days ago, early the morning after he'd sneaked off to Gerudo Fortress. Paris had thundered and protested; he was the elder brother and their parents were dead. Olean was not to leave the Castle. He was to stay safe and whole, not know discomfort at night for the hard ground or hunger for lack of good food. Olean was not to be there, and yet there he had been.

The brash youth had laughed in his face.

"Oh, Paris, must you always be so unfair?"

The Count had been glad of another hand and immediately assigned Olean to a post, one under Paris. Paris was grateful for small favors: under him, he could keep an eye on the boy, his brother.

And he had still died!

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"_I meant only to save lives when we retreated."_

It had not been a lie. A half-truth, maybe. Savannah had not wanted the Gerudo to die, but in retreating, she'd thought of herself. Of saving herself and Paris ridicule.

She almost laughed. They were guilty by mere association with each other. They were so deep in already, the meeting she had been contemplating could not possibly damn them any more.

Having reached such a decision, she had little to lose, except time. She didn't know what would happen once she left the Fortress, but she didn't care. Like a lover denied her beloved, she had attention only for him. And in truth, that was what she was. Denied.

Savannah packed nothing, she took no provisions, thought nothing through, only ran. She ran silently through the halls of the fortress, down the stairs, out across the night-cooled sands to the stables, to Shadow. Her mount was as eager to quit the place as she was. She wasted no time with a saddle or reins, only mounted and held on to his mane. They left quietly but quickly and if someone saw them, no alarm went up. No one was there to see them off, nor prevent her from her heart's goal.

They raced across bridges and sands and rocks uncounted. Seeing blindly, they moved like the wind, swift with only small indications of presence.

Savannah would not be denied. She could not bear it. The young Hylian's blood still stained her hands, even though she'd washed. She still felt the tightening of her heart when she thought of Paris's anger. Such mistakes she'd made. Such loneliness she felt. She could not bear it. Would not endure it.

So she went to Paris, the time it took having no meaning, the terrain they covered without thought.

She had enough presence of mind to slow down and dismount when she neared the Hylian camp. She left Shadow in the darkness, where he blended in with ease.

Her mind was a jumbled mess, though strangely organized. She didn't know what she would do once she found Paris, but it didn't matter. All that did matter was finding him, comforting him, comforting herself.

Her need consumed her so that she moved without thinking, without planning, with only instinct. Swift and silent, she was the slightly moving shadow out of eyesight that always missed being noticed. The dirt did not stir under her feet, the wind left her long brown-red-black hair alone, the hounds that were sleeping together did not bark at her intrusion. Even the Earth herself breathed with ease, not alerting the guards to Savannah's being there.

She did not know how she knew which tent was Paris's, but she went in without hesitation, moving the flap to the side and bending down to go in. She felt no fear that she might be wrong.

There Paris was, curled up in the back corner of the tent, weeping. He was sprawled tensely, leaning against a wooden pole that held the tent up. He looked up at her entrance, tears making trails down his face, his eyes swimming.

"Savannah," he breathed, reaching a hand out to her, his arm trembling, his hand unsteady. She reached out and caught his fingers in her own as she kneeled in front of him. She put his hand to her cheek, watching as another tear fell.

"You cry for the one I killed…don't you?"

His eyes never left her face, the pain there in her eyes, dry though they were. "He was my brother."

Savannah knew what it was to have siblings, though she had none of her own. Her friends in the Kokiri Forest had been her brothers and sisters, each precious to her in their own way. Each unique, each with a flame of life that burned so brightly it was beautiful. She had been ripped from them, so that to her, they were dead. They were lost.

She understood the pain in Paris's heart.

She leaned forward, intent on pulling him into her arms and just holding him, letting him cry, letting him know she was there, she was sorry. But instead, she felt her lips press against his. Shocked, she started to pull away, but he reached up and held her to him.

Paris put everything into their kiss, his anger, his rage, his pain and sorrow. And his love. Always his love.

Slowly the knot of throbbing ache inside them both began to ease, began to let go. It did not fade completely, but only let the stinging bite fall away so that they both needed comfort, pushing closer to each other, not thinking, only feeling. Sorrow mixed with something heady, something strong, so that neither knew what they were doing.

They made love. Tender at first, touching, sliding, exploring. Skin to skin, warm, close, comforted, they loved each other, a statement to the Goddesses that though some were dead, they were alive. They would continue to live. Opposites hovered in the tent, life and death, warm and cold, anger and joy, pain and pleasure.

When they finally came together, a star fell outside, streaking across the sky.

Afterward, their breathing still labored and uneven, the fine sheen of sweat still covering their skin, Paris ran his hands down her sides to her hips, then back up. He had cried all of his tears, those of bliss and of pain. Now, he only had the strength to worship her body. He touched her everywhere, and she responded, arching closer to his touch.

He didn't want it to end; he was so happy there. No loneliness, not really upset over Olean's death. He felt like he finally belonged. But this, at least, had to end. He knew it, and in the end he would not be so cruel as to keep Savannah for himself when she had a chance to be who she was born to be.

He was gathering the courage and strength to climb from her arms when the flap to his tent was thrown open, light spilling into the darkness, silhouetting a tall figure.

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**TheFireSage** and **Thawn716**, thank you both for your reviews.


	10. Kokiri Again

**Chapter 10—Kokiri Again**

"My lord?"

Paris breathed a sigh of relief. The man was obviously a messenger, and if he'd been anywhere near the light from the council's meeting—which he doubtless had been, otherwise he would not be there—he wouldn't be able to see anything in the dark interior.

"What?" Paris demanded sharply.

"The Count wishing your presence at the meeting." he said with a slight accent.

Paris refused to leave. "Tell his lordship I am sleeping, as I was doing before you woke me. Now be gone." The man fled at his sharp tone, dropping the tent cover behind him to flee at a run.

"Are you angry?" Savannah asked into the quiet.

"No, love… I only wanted to stay with you."

She wiggled closer to him, laying her head on his chest. "I want to stay with you, too."

He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed his hand up and down her back. They were quiet for a long moment. He didn't want to let go, wanted these moments to last forever, but with each passing moment, his conscious became stronger, more forceful until he couldn't put it off any longer.

"Savannah?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you…do you ever wish you were Kokiri again?"

She raised up on her elbows to look down at him, her hair falling around them. "What do you mean, Kokiri again?"

He sighed, loath to let her go. "If there was a way to reverse what the Gerudo did to you, to make you a Kokiri child again, would you take it?"

"Of course," she answered instantly, but then when he saw her eyes change, he knew his face showed his emotions.

"Oh, Paris, I wouldn't leave you for the world."

He turned his head away, "I am Hylian, Savannah. I am not Kokiri as you are. If you take the potion, we cannot be together."

Her eyes searched his face. "Potion. You have a reversal potion?"

"I sent to the court wizard. It's not right, what they did to you, Savannah. I want you to be able to go back, if it's what you want."

Her eyes filled with tears then, and they leaked out. It was the first time he'd ever seen her cry and it ripped at him. He second guessed himself, maybe he'd been wrong. How could he cause her pain? What kind of uncaring fool was he? _No,_ he chased the doubt away quickly, before it could take roots too deep. She deserved the right to choose.

She sat up completely and turned away from him. "You ask me to choose? My heritage or you."

He touched her shoulder as he sat up beside her, trying to offer comfort.

"How could you ask such of me?"

She wept. To have her life back, to belong like she did before, to frolic and play and not know worry or concern. The have the carefree life she wanted so much back, to smite the Gerudo by taking away their precious weapon. It was what she wanted above all else. Needed. It was the one thing she lived for.

But Paris. She loved him; there was no denying that. But what would they have together? She would have to go with him, be branded a traitor by the Gerudo. She would never fit in anywhere he would call home or elsewhere, she would always be the object of hidden whispers, ignored and ridiculed. She was a half-breed, with blood black hair. What would their children look like? What kind of life would she lead? Could she bear to humiliate him by her being with him?

Her heart clenched and she felt sick. But all she did was weep, silently, she let the tears flow. Tears for the loss of her brothers and sisters, tears for the fear when the potion had transformed her, tears for being degraded and ignored, tears for the gory pain of training, tears for her broken heart, tears for Paris and tears for joy. She cried them all and more.

Her decision was painful, but in the end, there really was no choice left to her. She had to go back. She had to become Kokiri again. The Forest called to her still, her first lover, always unforgettable.

She took a deep breath to stab off the tears. "I have to go back."

Paris closed his eyes and clenched his teeth together to keep from crying. The tears were fresh and numerous and keeping them in was a battle. He would not be so selfish; he would not keep her from what she wanted.

_"When you love someone, Paris, you must love them enough to let them go."_ His mother had said that to him, when she'd been lying in her bed, dying. It was the last thing she'd said to him before the breath had left her lungs and her chest had fallen for the last time. He loved Savannah enough to let her go, to let her choice her way, but it would likely kill him.

So be it. This was what she wanted. He would give it to her.

But he could not keep the tears inside. He took too deep a breath to steady himself and it had the opposite effect. He sobbed into her arms, not saying anything.

He was numb when his tears ran out.

"I will take you back to the Forest," he said. The voice wasn't his.

They dressed without light, by touch. Outside the camp was quiet, everyone asleep, but even if they'd all been up, Paris would have just walked right out, his hand cradling Savannah's. Such was the extent the world touched him—not at all. He mounted Heath and she behind him, and they rode out toward Kokiri Forest. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.

They reached the Forest too soon. Paris wanted to ride away from her home, kidnap her like a pirate, take her away. But no. Outside the forest, they dismounted. Paris turned his back to her and pulled the potion from the saddlebag, then held it out to her. She took it gingerly, looking at the crystal blue glass as it shimmered in the moonlight.

"Kiss me," he asked. She looked up to him. "one last time."

She did. She put all of her love for him into her kiss. It was a tender goodbye, but a good-bye nonetheless. Not a see-you-later, not a we'll-meet-again. A good-bye.

She pulled the cork from the bottle and tossed her head back, gulping down the liquid. It tasted fowl, though she could tell the magician had tried to sweeten it with cinnamon.

It started slowly. For a moment, Paris dared hope that it wouldn't work. But it did. Words could not describe the happening. It simply did. Paris watched, horrified and fascinated all at once.

When Savannah stood again, her clothes were too big, falling off of her. She did not look at Paris. She had only eyes for her Forest. She gave some kind of startled cry, somewhere between rapture and surprise, then she ran into the woods, laughing and giggling.

Watching her go let panic loose in his heart and he raced after her, into the heart of the forest where the Kokiri lived. He stopped, hidden and watched as those who were awake gathered around her.

"Wren's back! Wren's back!" Others crawled from their homes and soon the place was alive and merry. Wren was home. Savannah was hugging and laughing with them all, but she stopped, and they stopped, when a young boy came toward them slowly. He looked like he didn't believe his eyes.

"Roarke!" Savannah screamed the boy's name and ran to him. Roarke caught her, and he started to cry, mumbling something to her.

Paris cried too. He didn't want to watch anymore, but he couldn't move either. Long after all of the Kokiri had vanished from his sight, and gone back to bed, he was still there. Broken beyond repair.

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I am so frustrated with Savannah. I knew all along she would go back, but I did not anticipate how deeply in love they would fall. I struggled all while writing this chapter, through tears, to find some way for them to be together—maybe Paris _could_ kidnap her before he gives her the potion, maybe the potion does _not_ work, anything! But in the end, she returned; she was wronged and did have the right to go back. But, to leave Paris like that... I've decided that there most likely will be a sequel; I'm not an author to leave her characters in pain. I just cannot do it. If you would like to me notified you when the sequel is posted, please PM me, and I'll let you know.

The next chapter is the last for this part of the story.

**TheFireSage**, yes, Paris still loves her. He's such a good-guy, really. And honestly, she didn't know it was his brother. That doesn't change the fact that she killed, but... Thank you for your review.

**Thawn716,** thank you for your review, too. I admit that the confrontation between the Hylians and the Gerudos was not the best; it was kinda supposed to be hard to read. It was defiantly hard to write.


	11. Foul Play

**Chapter 11—Foul Play**

Paris numbly listened to the news that flew through the Hylian camp. He knew he'd be called to the Count's tent soon. He walked without feeling, broken and torn, back to his tent.

He flipped the flap open and crawled in. Tears welled up in his eyes anew; the bed where he and Savannah had made love was still a mess, covers twisted, pillows thrown everywhere. Their combined scents still lingered there.

Collapsing and taking up a pillow to inhale her fragrance, he let his emotions run high, run away. Now that he'd given her the potion and let her go, now that she was too far for him to retrieve and there was no going back, he let his bitter anger go, let it consume him, like the night consumes the earth, taking the soil, rich and otherwise, away from the sun, inch by inch.

How could she leave him? After what they had shared there, in his tent, and beyond, in her fortress-prison? He loved her just as surely as she loved him. Damn his sense of honor that gave her the chance to escape. He wanted her, needed her; she was his!

He raged at himself, cursed Savannah, and did both to the Goddess Nayru. What an irony that the goddess of love would forsake him in the matter. What laughable irony, but it didn't help his battered heart.

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"Where is Paris?" King Link asked. He was lounging in the Count's tent, a wineglass in one hand, there to deal personally with the matter of war with the Gerudo. Everyone else seemed tense and rather unease, but after two years as the Hylian King, Link was used to it. Now, he paid it no heed as he waited for his question to be answered.

"The general, my lord?" the Count asked.

"What bearing does that boy have here, in such a…high profile matter?" Another asked.

"Paris led our troops when battle was given, did he not? He saw to his people, kept them warm and fed and looked after them. If he is the one who physically was fighting this war, then he had every bearing. Where is he?" Link was suddenly in no mood for this. He wanted to see the young Hylian who had asked the transformation potion of the court wizard. His queen had been worried about the whelp she'd taken in and raised for the later parts of his childhood. And, as an expectant father, it was his duty and honor to see to anything that might trouble his queen.

"In his tent, I believe, my lord," the Count said when no one else spoke up.

Link, indifferent that his actions could be interpreted as rude, stood and sat the wineglass aside, leaving without a word to those gathered. He knew which tent was Paris's by the unique markings of Paris's house. He stopped outside the cloth door and listened.

"Paris?" he called, almost softly into the air.

There was no answer but something shifted inside. Link waited a few seconds more, but heard nothing else, so he went in.

He stood still for a moment to let his eyes adjust, then saw a huddled heap of person on the far end, in a tangle of covers. The air smelled…Link became confused. If he didn't know better, he would think it smelled like love.

"Paris?" Link went around the various objects scattered in the tent to kneel next to the huddled figure that was Paris. The younger Hylian was weeping, curled in on himself. Link placed a hand on his shoulder as the pieces began to fall into place.

"Tell me of her," Link whispered softly. Paris continued to weep and, with his head still buried in his arms, he shook his head, too wrecked to even have the strength to lift his head.

Link stayed there with Paris for a long time, trying to comfort him. It was in vain, whatever the bond between the Kokiri Warrior and the Hylian Warrior had been was shattered now, and in that breaking was Paris's soul. He would not be comforted, he would not eat and would not drink. Nor did he sleep. But the pain that gripped him and kept him in a dark abyss lasted many days. He cried until he was incapable of crying any longer. But his heart, even when his eyes' salty tears were gone, continued to howl.

To Be Continued in the sequel "The Hylian Warrior"...

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**Author's Notes:**

Well, this is the end of Part 1. To be perfectly honest, I had intended the story to end here, with Paris a little forlorn, but not broken like he really is. But things did not follow my neat little plan. Thus, there will be a sequel, and I will PM those of you who have asked for notification when it's ready. Allow me time, though, I've got eight classes happening right now and finals week is coming up fast.

Now, a thanks to each of my reviews: **Zequistis Free Spirit, OrcishHorde, Spiritual Stone, ZombieDragon, TheFireSage, and all unknown, un-reviewing readers.** A very special thanks goes to **Thawn716 **for continued feedback; nothing here thrills me more then an interested reader. Thank you all!

Happy Writing and Reading

_DreamWeaver010_

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For those of you wondering, what sparked this mini war in the first place, here is an additional short story to explain.

**Reasons for War: The Gerudo's Story**

The devastation was total. The Gerudo Fortress had been ransacked. Many of their people lay dead and dying, while others brought water, tired to bring the shattered gate down to provide some protection, and ran to and fro. Everywhere, the pain and suffering, physical and mental anguish, was vibrating through the air in panicked cries.

Abinan, the self-appointed Queen of the Gerudo people, stood at the top of their beautiful, complex stone fortress and watched the aftermath of the attack, playing it through in her head. Blaine, a Hyrule advisor, had led the attack that had taken so many lives. It was outrageous, unacceptable. Could the Queen and King of Hyrule—their friends!—have ordered such monstrosity? Why would they? For many years, Zelda and Link had been at peace with all the peoples in Hyrule. This voided all trust, destroyed the peace and freedom they had known for years.

Her anger mounting, Abinan let her eyes burn with bright flames as she stared blankly at the pain and suffering.

"Nina," Abinan said softly. Her right-hand-warrior stepped up from where she had stood back.

"Yes?" Nina's voice was soft and quite. Despite her capabilities with a bow and horse, she was young, seventeen only, and had seen nothing of battle or death or pain.

"Gather the Council; this is war."

Nina, with her haunted eyes still fixed on the bloody, gory scene below, nodded slightly with the whisper, "Yes, Abinan,"

The council gathered quickly, though they had lost two members to the death-sweep. Abinan had little time to mourn them, and none of it was now. Nina did as she was bade by her queen with a numb soul; she'd never thought to see anything like this in her life, and at least not so young, so soon.

Voices echoed off the stone walls, demanding why this had happened, what the implications were, what was to be done. Some called for immediate contact with their royal highnesses, Queen Zelda and King Link. Other called for immediate war. Immediate blood.

"Sisters!" Abinan said, taking her throne at one end of the large room. Her shouted echoed, gathering all attention to her and the room grew silent.

"For many moons now, we have suffered ill-trade." Abinan said calmly. A cheer of approval and concurrence went up. Abinan went on, "For many more moons, our representative in Hyrule Castle has not represented us but himself. Not two moons ago, many of our sisters were taken away from us, without explanation, without promise or word that they would be returned." Furious screams erupted at the mention of the Gerudo Roundup, something Blaine had also seen to personally. "And now they sweep through our home and kill more of us then has died in over a hundred years! Now, what will we do about it?" Abinan did not consider that it might not be wise to encourage them; her own anger had mounted beyond peaceful negotiations.

"My lady!" Yetta stepped forward from the crowd. An elder Gerudo, she was wise beyond her years, with a strong voice that silenced those gathered as thoroughly as their queen's had. "The King Link is an undefeatable warrior and a capable leader. He is Hylian! But where did he come from, I ask you? He was once _Kokiri_!"

As others caught on to what she was saying, they cheered her on.

"If we take a Kokiri child away from the Forest and make it one of us, it would be unbeatable; our prefect weapon against all Hylians not Gerudo."

Abinan sat back as the cheers went up and on. Who was she to disagree with her people? And her people did indeed like this idea. Abinan smiled a secret smile. _A Kokiri Child... A Kokiri Warrior..._


End file.
